A trip to the local reveals interesting insights into the minds of Owen and Ianto. Racist humour, bigotry, hints of drunken Owen/Ianto, more obvious hints of Jack/Ianto. Not for the easily offended. For everyone who's had one too many in the pub. Season 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood and I am not making any profit from this work.

At The Bar

Jack enjoyed taking his team out after a long hard day at work (or several days) for a drink (or many) at the local. Ianto and Owen, the nearest that the team had to 'local blokes' (despite Owen being a Londoner and Ianto being from some village on the Welsh coast peering at Ireland that nobody had heard of, could pronounce, or wanted to visit) had found a local within moments of moving into the area. Naturally.

It had become the team local, after Jack had discovered, with much surprise, that Owen and Ianto had struck up a friendship over the pool table and across from the dartboard. Owen was a dab hand at darts when he was tipsy, but not yet drunk, and Ianto was a bastard on the pool table. He could defeat anybody even when he was so drunk he couldn't remember his own name and lapsed into Welsh singing which made Gwen go bright red and announce her need to go home now.

Still, after a long hard day, Jack had taken to getting them all round the pub for at least one drink. It had been an attempt to keep them human, to keep them in tune with the real, ordinary human world. Even Suzie had unwound a little when they went to the pub. And although it wasn't nearly as successful as Jack would like it to be, it was still better than not getting together at all.

Tonight, the pub was busy enough that they were all sat around their little table in the corner by the window, and Ianto was attempting to steal a crisp from Owen. Who guarded snack food and beer like a tigress guards her young. No sharing. The two of them reverted to unruly teenagers or university students again when they were brought into a pub, and Jack rather liked it. If only because they also reverted to complete and utter slander.

"Kiwis," he said, "shag even more sheep than the Welsh. And they shag lambs too. Paedophiles."

"Kiwis probably are Welsh," Owen argued, waving his glass around to make a point and spilling half of it on the table. "They're all criminals and convicts anyway."

"That's the Australians," Ianto said, then paused. "I don't know...maybe it's the Kiwis too. But it's so long they must be a sub-species now anyway."

"So the English became the Australians, and the Welsh became the Kiwis..." Jack said, then grinned. "What about the Irish?"

"Americans," Owen said.

"Or starved to death because they're too stupid to grow potatoes," Ianto said.

"Too drunk," Owen said, and proved it by promptly falling off his chair.

"Like you," Ianto said, stone-faced.

"Unlike you, I suppose?" Jack snickered, practically undressing Ianto then and there with his eyes.

"I can still walk, thank you," Ianto said primly, and proved it by going to the bar and ordering another round. He even carried them back in trips without spilling them.

"You'd make a good waiter," Owen said, hauling himself upright and downing a good quarter of his new pint in one go.

"I'm not French," Ianto deadpanned, and copied him.

"But you would look hot in the penguin outfit," Owen said, and earned himself scandalised looks from all four of them. Seemingly unaffected by them, he continued: "Do you tan? Cos if you did, you could be an Italian waiter and then everybody would want to sleep with you."

"Okay, sweetheart, time to get you home," Gwen said loudly and clearly, jumping up and helping a reluctant Ianto from his seat. She was blushing scarlet and Tosh shook her head with slight amusement. Even drunk, Ianto knew how to utilise all the stuff he knew with amazing accuracy.

In the chilly Cardiff air, the team went their different ways, with Gwen volunteering to see Owen home and Tosh giving Ianto a tight hug before telling Jack that the green box in the kitchen cupboard at the Hub contained Ianto's hangover cure, and vanishing off towards her car.

"Just you and me," Jack said, sliding an arm around Ianto to keep him walking in a straight line. At least he wasn't staggering. Ianto was smaller than Jack, but he was quite the sportsman, and, as a result, he was damn heavy.

"Nympho," Ianto said.

"Uh-huh," Jack agreed, walking them towards the Plass. "So, why don't you tell me exactly what you and Owen got up to on ten brandies between you? Or do I have to coax it out of you?"

"Can't you just sexually torture it out of me?" Ianto whined, beginning to slur ever so slightly.

Jack beamed.

"Deal."

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